Fire suddenly breaks out at the hotel where we're hosting our wedding. My fiance, Alan Godwin, doesn't hesitate to pick up Brenda Larkin, my cousin who has already collapsed out of fright, and rush out to safety.
Meanwhile, my parents and older brother hurriedly cart away the wedding gift Brenda has made. They don't want her to get sad if the gift is damaged in any way.
As for me, I've twisted my ankle, making it inconvenient for me to escape from the hotel. Everyone has already forgotten all about me, so I end up getting severe burns all over my body.
When they look at the bandages wrapped around my body, they shoot me disgusted looks.
"Why are you such a jinx? How is it possible for a fire to break out at your own wedding? Thanks to you, Brenda has fainted out of shock!"
"Well, it's not like you're suited for any public appearances when you look like this, anyway. Brenda's figure is similar to yours. Why don't you let her replace you in the wedding?"
I just nod calmly and agree to the suggestion. After that, I sort out the details of getting dispatched overseas for my job with my boss.
One month later, I board my flight on the day Brenda is set to wed Alan.
I no longer want Alan, who's blind to the truth, and my family, who are nothing but biased toward Brenda.
But why is it that they are filled with regret after I leave them?
I got a call from my brother, Ronald Samson, just 15 days before my cousin Brenda Larkin and my fiance Alan Godwin were set to be married.
The first thing out of his mouth was an accusation.
"Did you tell your friends to post all that trash under Brenda's social feed? I knew it. I was wondering why you'd been so quiet lately. Turns out you were waiting to pull this. Do you have any idea she cried because of those comments? Get over here and apologize to Brenda right now."
He had no idea my hand was shaking so badly I could barely keep hold of my phone. The wounds had gotten infected. Dozens of blisters all over my body had been lanced. Even after taking far too many painkillers, the pain was still unbearable.
I wanted to tell Ronald that I had no idea what he was talking about. I was in so much pain it felt like tens of thousands of ants were crawling over and biting into my skin. Before I could say anything, the call was already disconnected.
Just a moment ago, the pain had been so overwhelming that I almost forgot that the Ronald of today was no longer the same one who used to hold me and promise he would protect me for life.
He hadn't called to ask how I was doing. He only wanted to vent his anger on behalf of Brenda, whom he cherished above all else.
I let out a sigh, suppressing the pain as I tapped into Brenda's social feed. The most recent post was a photographer's shot of Brenda and Alan's backs.
She was wearing an extravagant wedding gown, while Alan was dressed in a tailored suit. They were holding hands, looking perfectly matched.
The caption read, "Stepping in for Anna at the wedding shoot. Yay or nay?"
At the top were comments from my parents and Ronald.
"Brenda, you look amazing. You two are a perfect match."
"Of course you look great! Brenda, you're our prettiest little princess."
"It's so nice that there's no one awkward in the way. You and Alan really are perfect together."
I looked at those comments without feeling a ripple of emotion. I had long since grown used to this.
To my family, I was merely the obstacle between Alan and Brenda. Even after seven years as Alan's official girlfriend, I was still the sinner in their eyes.
As I scrolled down, a few messages from my friends caught my eye. They were defending me.
"Oh sure, Brenda and Alan look amazing together—if you're into disasters. Marriage? No thanks."
"Every time I check my feed, it's just unlucky stuff. I'm so over it."
Strangely, those comments made me want to cry.
It was as if my numb heart had been struck, sending trembling, aching waves through me. I stared at the ceiling, swallowing back the tears.
After opening each chat window to thank my friends, I tapped into the family group chat that I had pinned to the top. They were in the middle of an animated discussion about the wedding decorations.
I let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. I had handled every detail of the wedding, and yet the fire had destroyed it all.
Once everything was set, Brenda had only said it looked too plain and that she wanted something more dreamy. That was when Alan contacted the wedding planner for the first time.
Next to the crystal decorations I had carefully designed, they added a large number of pink feathers that clashed horribly with everything else.
The fire had spread so badly largely because of those pink feathers. However, my family and my fiance completely forgot that it had been Brenda's suggestion and pinned all the blame on me instead.
In that group chat, the five of them were using matching cartoon avatars.
Brenda was the adored little princess, my parents and Ronald were the king, queen, and prince. My fiance, Alan, used a knight avatar that was clearly a couple set with the princess.
He used to tell me he couldn't use childish couple icons because too many supervisors were on his WhatsApp. Perhaps his rules changed once Brenda came into the picture.
I stared at those five matching avatars for a long time before finally sending a message. "The photos look nice. I don't know anything about the comments. Sorry."
My appearance caused the group, which had been buzzing with conversation, to fall completely silent.
After a few minutes, Brenda finally broke the silence with a fake-sweet message. "It's fine, Anna. I don't blame you."
The group chat that had just fallen silent instantly came back to life.
My father, John Samson, said, "Brenda really knows how to handle things. Anna, you should learn from her."
My mother, Lydia Stone, added, "Exactly. You're the older one, but you still don't measure up to Brenda. You really need to reflect on yourself."
Ronald jeered, "If you're going to apologize, do it right. Stop pretending you didn't know. Some people really are rotten to the core."
Faced with their insults, I didn't cry or try to explain myself like I used to, and I didn't start an argument either. This had happened far too many times over the years. No matter what I said, they would never believe me, so speaking up felt pointless.
I muted the chat, unpinned it, and said nothing more. After that grueling day, my wounds started to heal bit by bit.
The hospital days were quiet. While other rooms were full of visitors, mine was almost deserted. A few friends came by now and then, but everyone had their own problems and couldn't stay with me.
Even the nurse asked if there was anyone left in my family who could look after me.
I simply smiled and thanked her for her concern.
With only ten days until the wedding, I never expected to see my parents and Ronald at the hospital, since they had never come for me before.
They appeared tense, with worry etched on their faces. I couldn't deny the stir of feeling it caused, but it passed quickly. I knew full well they hadn't come for me.
Sure enough, the elevator doors opened, and a man wheeled Brenda out in a wheelchair. When she saw my parents and Ronald, her face lit up with a bright smile. "Aunt Lydia, Uncle John, Ronald, why are you all here? I just twisted my ankle."
"You silly thing, a twisted ankle isn't a small thing. It must hurt a lot," Mom said, looking at her with concern.
I stood quietly in the corner, lowered my head, and glanced at my own foot, which had almost fully recovered.
During the wedding rehearsal, Brenda had shoved me, and I had fallen, twisting my ankle as well.
Back then, Mom had only pulled Brenda into her arms.
She had said, "It's just a twisted ankle. How much can it really hurt? Brenda didn't do it on purpose!"
She had told me not to make a big deal out of such a minor thing with Brenda, and now she was acting like a twisted ankle was a serious problem for her.
I took a deep breath, feeling like a fish stranded on dry land.
Home was so close, yet no matter what, I couldn't go back.
I never could.
Three days before I was supposed to be discharged, I handled my own release from the hospital. When I stepped outside, no one was there to pick me up.
Everyone was busy at the wedding venue, rehearsing for the big day.
Brenda sent one photo after another of the sweet, happy moments, as if to make sure I didn't miss anything. With each one I saw, the pain in my heart dulled, slowly fading into numbness.
I took a cab home to start packing for my trip abroad. When I entered the password I hadn't changed in years, it said "Incorrect Password".
The password had originally been Ronald's birthday and mine. When Mom and Dad set it, they said it would make sure they'd never forget our birthdays. But over the years, even with that password, they forgot mine countless times. And now, they had changed it without telling me.
I tried again and again before finally giving up and calling Mom. She rejected the call twice before finally picking up.
It was loud on the other end, like they were eating. I heard Ronald teasing Alan about his eyes being practically glued to Brenda.
Mom's voice came through the line. "Don't you know we're eating? Can't whatever it is wait a minute?"
As I paid attention, I noticed more than impatience in her voice. There was a hint of guilt, probably because of Alan.
However, I kept that thought to myself and simply said, "The house password's been changed. I can't get in."
Mom paused, clearly caught off guard. "You're back from the hospital?"
After realizing she had asked a stupid question, she fell silent. Still, she didn't give me the password. "Go and stay at the Southville house for now."
Her refusal to answer immediately raised a red flag. "Did you touch my room?" I asked cautiously.
In a flash, Mom snapped, "What are you thinking? That little room of yours is empty. What could possibly be worth touching in that little room of yours? Enough! We still have to eat!"
The call ended. I stood at the front door for a long time, staring at the lock.
After entering Ronald's and Brenda's birthdays, the door finally opened. I couldn't tell what I was feeling.
Sad? Not quite.
Angry? Not really.
Mostly, it was the cold recognition that this was how things had always been.
As I stepped into the house I had lived in for over 20 years, I realized how much had changed.
The last time I got married, my parents and Ronald had been too lazy to bother with decorations. This time, the house was decked out in festive decorations; even the bathroom had crimson wedding ribbons. The family photo on the TV cabinet had been replaced with a four-person portrait I had never seen.
My chest tightened as I walked straight to my little corner room. When I opened the door, my bed was gone. The desk and cabinets were gone. The room was filled with all sorts of wedding supplies. No wonder Mom refused to give me the password.
There was nothing left of me in this house. And strangely, I found myself laughing. My cheeks tingled, and when the wind hit, I realized they were wet. I had been crying.
As if fate were against me, I ran into all five of them coming back from dinner. Mom, Dad, and Ronald were at the back, while Alan and Brenda strode in front, holding hands like a normal couple. When they saw me, they awkwardly let go.
"Anna, it's not what you think," Brenda said, feigning innocence, though her eyes betrayed how proud she was.
Alan stayed close to her, shielding her as though I might snap. "Anna, what Brenda said is true. We were just following the photographer's suggestion to spend some time together."
I looked at the man I had loved for seven years and let out a bitter laugh. "It's okay. I understand."
Mom, Dad, and Ronald rushed forward, scolding me all at once. "Anna, can't you behave? Look at yourself! If it weren't for you, Brenda would never be with Alan—"
"I know!" I interrupted firmly. "I know it's for my own good, and I'm grateful. Mom, wasn't I supposed to stay at the Southville house? My cab is nearly here."
